


To Feel Your Heart as It's Keeping Mine

by Vendelin



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Amnesia, Angst, Deputy Derek, M/M, Memory Loss, Teacher Stiles, Temporary Amnesia, With a happy ending!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-11
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-07 04:43:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3161654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vendelin/pseuds/Vendelin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles and Derek have been dating for four months, when Derek gets in an accident and loses all his memories from the past year and a half. Now, he’s once again the Derek Stiles used to despise, and even worse, Derek thinks that he still hates Stiles’ guts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Feel Your Heart as It's Keeping Mine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bleep0bleep](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bleep0bleep/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [Я несу твое сердце в себе, твое сердце в моем](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5864647) by [madchester](https://archiveofourown.org/users/madchester/pseuds/madchester)



> So, this was a secret santa fic, which is why it hasn't had any notes until now. Carrie (bleep0bleep) wanted temporary amnesia, so I had to come up with something based on that. I had great help from everyone in the sprinter's circle - thank you guys!  
> Since I'm not a doctor, I've made everything up, basically. I hope you won't look too closely on the medical facts, haha. 
> 
> A special thanks to MadMadamM (or mikkimouse here on AO3), for all the support and encouragement. And to Josh for being such an amazing beta – my alpha beta, so to speak. 
> 
> And to Carrie, of course, because I feel honoured and terrified gifting this fic to you. I hope you'll like it!

It’s October 12th, early afternoon, and Stiles is in the middle of teaching his class the conspiracy theories surrounding Rasputin and the Romanov Empire when there’s a knock on Stiles’ classroom door and Finstock sticks his head in. The way he’s all quiet and...well, _sane_ , for once, worries Stiles in an instant.

“Stilinski,” he says. “I need you in my office right now. Greenberg will cover for you.”

Stiles doesn’t really care that Greenberg is the worst teacher the world has ever seen, and that his students will be climbing the walls in three seconds after he leaves the room. There’s this heavy feeling in his stomach, drawing his attention from the students, as to why Finstock came to find him in his classroom instead of bellowing out his orders through the speakers all over school. Normally, he’s got no problem with yelling at Stiles in front of both his colleagues and students; having him quietly retrieve him from class is unsettling.

“Okay, kids,” Stiles says, feeling a bit shaky, as he turns to his students. “Behave. I don’t want to hear from Mr. Greenberg that you’ve been trouble, okay?”

They’re high schoolers, of course they don’t care.

“My office, Stilinski,” Finstock says again, as Stiles exits to the corridor behind him.

Stiles just nods, the heavy feeling in his stomach making him feel nauseated and hyper-aware. Suddenly, he can hear the other teachers talking from the classrooms they’re passing; he can smell the gym clothes in the lockers, and dust from the cleaners not doing their job properly. Maybe it’s his dad. He’s old, he’s not in the best of health and he’s got a dangerous job. It’s not like Beacon Hills is the most exciting place in the world when it comes to crime, but his dad being the Sheriff and all, he’s automatically in every dangerous situation, even though there might not be a lot of them.

However, when Stiles enters Finstock’s office, his dad is there, sitting in a chair with a worried look on his face, and Stiles just knows.

_Derek._

“What happened?” he asks right away, feeling his heart suddenly beat so fast that he feels lightheaded and ill.

“Sit down, son. Please.” His dad adds the last word when Stiles remains standing. He almost falls into the chair when he sits down.

His brain is on high-speed. He wonders if Derek is alive, if he’s okay, what happened to him, what Stiles can do to make it better.

“Derek is alive,” his dad says, like he just read Stiles’ mind, but there’s something in his tone that doesn’t calm Stiles down.

“But?”

“Derek was ticketing a driver for speeding, when he got hit by a car. He broke two ribs, his left arm, and hit his head pretty badly. There’s swelling in his brain, and the doctors are worried that it will affect his short-term memory.”

Stiles’ stomach drops.

Stiles and Derek haven't been together long, despite the fact that Derek has worked for the Sheriff for the past five years. They actually used to hate each other; Stiles hated Derek, because he seemed stuck up, like he knew how hot he was, with a killer ass and cheekbones to die for. Derek hated Stiles because he seemed like the bratty kid who got away with everything, just because his dad was the sheriff. Then, a year ago, Derek saved Stiles' dad from getting shot, and their relationship began to change. Four months ago, Stiles manned up and finally gathered the courage to ask Derek out on a date. They'd been together since.

Stiles has been the happiest he’s ever been, these past four months. If what Derek says is to be trusted – which Stiles assumes he should, they’re in a relationship – then so is Derek. Stiles even knows that his dad silently approves.

“The doctors want to wait until the swelling goes down to wake him up. But the damage to his memory, if there’s any, should only be temporary,” his dad says quickly, like he’s seen how Stiles’ mind has started racing again. “But they can’t know for certain.”

Stiles asks Finstock if he can leave early, and spends most of the weekend in the hospital, watching Derek sleep. He wonders if Derek will even know his face when he wakes up. Stiles is terrified.

When Stiles returns to school, he does his best to focus on his students. It works a bit; when he’s actively teaching, he doesn’t have time to think about Derek. But in the quiet times – the minutes between classes, the study hall he monitors, lunch in the teachers lounge – he can’t help but worry.

The unsettling feeling of déjà vu comes over him three weeks later, when Finstock pops his head into Stiles’ classroom.

“My office, Stilinski. Greenberg will cover for you.”

His dad doesn’t need to ask this time; Stiles just sinks down in the chair again.

“They woke Derek up today,” he says, looking grave. “The good news is that he’s alert and responsive, and there doesn’t seem to be any damage to his motor function.”

“And the bad news?” Stiles asks.

His dad hesitates. “The bad news is that he has retrograde amnesia. Cognitively, he understands that he was hit by a car, but he doesn’t remember it. He doesn’t remember issuing a speeding ticket, or even stopping the car that was speeding. In fact,” his voice falters a bit, but he continues. “In fact, he doesn’t seem to remember much of the past year.”

Stiles swallows heavily, and his vision goes blurry. At least Finstock has the decency to look away.

“Do you think he’ll remember…” Stiles trails off, unable to finish the sentence. He can tell that his dad is trying to keep a straight face, but he’s not able to completely cover his frown.

“I told him that you were worried about him and that you’d like to see him,” his dad replies.

“And?” Stiles asks.

“He said: _Why the hell would Stiles want to see me_?”

The room falls silent. Stiles doesn’t think that he remembers how to breathe. His scalp prickles with anxiety. His dad leans forward and runs a hand through his hair, trying to comfort him.

“I wanted to come here and tell you, before you went to see him.”

Stiles looks up sharply. “Why would I go see him if he doesn’t remember that we actually like each other now, much less that we’re dating?” he blurts, feeling an odd mix of relief that Derek is awake and okay, but hurt that Derek doesn’t remember – can’t remember – being in love with him.

“Because seeing you and talking to you might help him to remember,” his dad says.

Stiles slumps forward, resting his head on Finstock’s desk. “Fuck,” he whispers, mostly to himself.

“Stilinski, don’t sweat on my mahogany,” Finstock snaps, and slaps the back of his head.

“Oh my god, I just found out that my boyfriend lost some of his memory, cut me some slack!”

“I’m going to give you some time off. Paid time off, Stilinski. Don’t sweat on my mahogany, because I’m being pretty generous here.”

Stiles straightens up and wipes the sweat off of the desk and his forehead. Paid time off is probably exactly what he needs right now.

“So, when can I see him?” he asks after a few minutes of silence, and looks up at his dad.

“I’ll take you now.”

* * *

 

Derek isn’t awake when they arrive at the hospital. Stiles sighs with relief. He isn’t ready to deal with Derek not remembering him yet. He never will be. It’s just like he knows, even though no one seems to know for sure how much Derek does or doesn’t remember. Of course this happens when Stiles is the happiest that he’s ever been. It’s just Stiles’ luck that the man who could be the love of his life loses the part of his memory that remembers being with Stiles. And, of course, Stiles is the only one who suffers; obviously, Derek won’t remember loving him, but Stiles will.

He makes his dad leave. He wants to be alone when he sees Derek for the first time. That way he’ll be less humiliated. Which is a ridiculous thought on his own, because no one would laugh at Stiles because his boyfriend forgot how much they love each other. Not even Jackson.

It’s way past visiting hours when a nurse comes to find him. She has a sweet face, and smiles sadly at him when he straightens in the chair he’s been dozing in. His back hurts so bad.

“He’s awake now. I asked him if he wanted to see you, and he asked me why he would want to.” She makes a face, like she only now realises how bad this sounds. “I’m sure it’ll be easier for him as soon as he sees you.”

Stiles’ heart is somewhere at the sole of his feet, anyway, so he feels like he doesn’t have much left to lose. He follows her through the corridors, remembers the other times he’s been here, visiting. Hospitals aren’t his thing. They’re only connected to loss for him. Loss of his mom, loss of his dad’s happiness, and now a loss of his own, it seems.

Derek is lying in the hospital bed when Stiles enters. He still looks bruised, even though it’s better than it was when he first got here. His arm is still in a cast. Stiles’ heart does this almost painful squeeze that it hasn’t done in a while now, but it makes it even worse that he can’t just hug it out.

“Hey,” he says quietly, and drags the visitor’s chair closer to the bed. “How are you feeling?”

Derek gives him an odd look. It’s so scarily familiar, even though Stiles hasn’t seen it in such a long time. It feels like his chest is going to crack in the worst way possible.

“Beaten up,” Derek says finally. “Did the sheriff send you?”

“Nah,” Stiles says awkwardly and shakes his head. He doesn’t know how to put this exactly. “It’s something I wanted to do.”

“Why?” Derek asks immediately, tone sharp.

Stiles clears his throat, clasping his hands between his knees. “So what do you remember about the accident, really?”

Derek’s eyes narrow at that, like he knows that Stiles is avoiding the question and is trying to get to something else. “I don’t remember anything. The doctor says that’s normal.”

“I guess it is.” Stiles nods. “What about before the accident, then? Like, a few days before it happened? Or even a few weeks?”

There’s a moment of panic in Derek’s eyes, and Stiles has to bite his lip and tighten the clasp of his hands, to keep from reaching out and trying to soothe him.

“I don’t know. I remember getting promoted. I remember the carnival. I remember moving into a new condo.” Derek shrugs. “It’s all kind of jumbled. The doctor says it should clear up soon enough, but there’s no guarantee. Apparently I got quite the hit to my head.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says slowly, because those are all things that happened over a year ago, well before Derek saved his father from getting shot. “I’m not sure if I’m supposed to tell you this,” he begins, but Derek pins him with his gaze, and Stiles should have known better than to start talking about the amnesia without planning how to say it.

“What?” Derek snaps, and Stiles winces, because he hasn’t used that tone in so long.

“So,” Stiles says slowly, and Derek rolls his eyes when he pauses for too long.

“Just spit it out.”

“So,” Stiles says again, and pretends that he doesn’t see the way Derek sighs. “All these things you just mentioned. It’s not that they didn’t happen or anything, it’s just that a lot of things have happened _since_.”

At that, Derek frowns, like he doesn’t quite understand.

“I haven’t been unconscious for more than three weeks.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s true.” Stiles pulls a hand through his hair, feeling his anxiety skyrocket instantly. His heart feels like it’s going to beat out of his chest. “Um. Thing is, all these things you mentioned, they happened like a year and a half ago, and things have changed since then.”

Derek is quiet for a while. He stares at Stiles as though he’s lying, like he wants Stiles to be lying. For a moment, Stiles thinks that Derek is going to panic, but he stays quiet.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks finally, when Derek has been chewing on the inside of his cheek for quite some time.

“You just told me that I’ve lost over a year’s worth of memories, and then you ask if I’m okay?” Derek snaps.

Stiles winces. “I didn’t know what else to say.”

There’s a long, painful silence after that. Stiles feels like he should leave. A part of him wants to leave, but at the same time, it feels wrong to leave Derek after dropping this bomb on him.

“So, you being here, does that have something to do with what happened during this time?” Derek asks eventually.

Stiles sucks in a breath, because how is he supposed to explain this to someone who still thinks that he hates Stiles’ guts. Someone who has no idea what they’ve been through, and the progress that they’ve made.

“Uh, yeah, you could say that.”

“I see,” Derek says, instead of pushing it further. There’s another long silence. Stiles wonders if he should elaborate further, or if he should just let it be, and hope that Derek gets his memory back in the next fifteen minutes or so.

Derek doesn’t say anything for such a long time that Stiles feels like he’s being asked to leave. So, instead of just waiting for something he doesn’t really know, he asks:

“Do you want me to go?”

“Yeah,” Derek replies. He doesn’t sound angry or upset. He sounds hollow and defeated, like he can’t quite wrap his head around why things would have changed so much in just a year and a half.

Still, it feels like taking a slap to the face. “Okay.”

Stiles feels shaky and odd and he leaves the room. It’s like all the air has left him. He has to sit down in the waiting room again, just for fifteen minutes or so, to tamp down on an anxiety attack that’s threatening to take him over. He doesn’t call his dad, because it feels like he’s failed, like he’s let everyone down. It’s not like it’s his fault, and it’s not like it’s Derek’s either. It’s just that stupid fuck who had to hit him with a car.

When Stiles gets home, his apartment is its usual mess. Derek hates it, he claims, because he likes order and Stiles just leaves his stuff all over the place. Sometimes on the weekends, when Derek spends the night, Stiles sleeps in on Saturday mornings and wakes up to find Derek tidying his place. Usually, Stiles doesn’t mind that much, even though that means that he’s going to have to start looking for his stuff, because sometimes Derek does it in his underwear, or even naked. Stiles can’t complain about that.

Now, however, he starts putting the clean dishes back in the cabinets, shelving the books, and putting his dirty clothes in the hamper. It’s well after midnight, but he just can’t find it in him to go to bed. He tries to think rationally, telling himself that Derek will be back to his usual self in just a couple of days, a week tops, and things will be back to order. This happens to people all the time, doesn’t it? And most of them get their memories back, don’t they? He doesn’t need to worry. On top of that, Derek is strong, physically as well as mentally, so he’ll recover quickly.

Taking a deep breath, Stiles leans against the kitchen counter and nods, trying to reassure himself. Things will be fine. In just a little while, things will be okay again, back to normal.

He feels a bit better when he goes to bed, and pulls on one of Derek’s t-shirts that he’s left behind, probably on purpose. It smells like Derek’s laundry detergent and his deodorant, and even though Stiles saw Derek just a few weeks ago, the _real_ Derek, the one who remembers, it still feels as though it’s been forever.

He wakes again to his dad calling him.

“Did you stay with Derek last night?”

“For a bit, yeah.”

“And how is he?”

“He doesn’t seem to remember anything from the past a year and a half or so.”

His dad sighs heavily on the other and. “I’m sorry, son. He’ll get there soon enough.”

“I know,” Stiles agrees, because really, there’s no room for him to doubt that.

“I’m going to see him today. Do you want to come with me?”

It’s not like Stiles can say no to that, is it? They’re not married, but for better or for worse should count in a regular relationship as well. There’s this new ounce of hope in his chest now, when his dad picks him up and drives them both over to the hospital. Derek is awake when they arrive, and for a second, Stiles thinks that all is good in the world again, when Derek lights up when he sees them.

“Sheriff,” he says, and Stiles’ stomach plummets in a heartbeat. Because yeah, despite how much Derek used to despise him, he has always admired Stiles’ dad a great deal.

“Derek, son, how are you feeling?”

“Sore, but otherwise okay.” Derek looks over at Stiles uncertainly and no, Stiles doesn’t know how to greet him either.

“Could I talk with Sheriff alone, please?” he asks, and Stiles just nods, because how can he say no?

“Uh yeah, sure, I’ll be outside.”

His dad gives him a sad look as he exits, but he tries to keep his head up. Things will get better. They have to. It’s only been a couple of days.

His dad is in there for a long time, and Stiles wants to crawl out of his skin. His dad finally sticks his head out the door and hooks a thumb over his shoulder. “Your turn. Call me when you want to go home.”

Stiles nods, and his dad hugs him tight before walking away. Stiles takes a deep breath, steeling himself, before he enters the room again. Derek looks more confused than he did before, even more so than when Stiles left him last night. Stiles takes a seat in the chair by Derek’s bed. He fidgets, twisting his fingers, unable to look Derek in the eye.

“So,” Derek says awkwardly. “I talked to the sheriff.”

“Right, I was there. I was the one you asked to leave the room, remember?” Stiles snarks. He can’t help himself. It feels like an old habit, the way he and Derek used to talk to each other before everything changed. He glances at Derek, whose eyes are fire.

“Sorry,” he mumbles.

Derek takes a deep breath, and Stiles can tell that it’s taking him a lot of effort to keep from snapping back.

“He says that we’re a couple,” Derek says flatly. “You and me.”

“Yeah,” Stiles murmurs quietly. He holds his breath, not saying anything else, a part of him hoping that Derek has suddenly remembered everything.

“I just don’t _get it_ ,” Derek blurts and Stiles lets his breath out in a whoosh. He wants to cry, because he has been saying to himself every day since they got together. Except where Derek’s confusion comes from disbelief, Stiles’ confusion has come from a place of astonished enchantment, like he couldn’t believe he finally found the right guy.

Stiles shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe you like my sense of humor. or the way my butt looks in that one pair of jeans,” he jokes half heartedly.

Derek’s head shakes imperceptibly, like he’s thinking _but I don’t_. And a year and a half ago, he didn’t.

“We don’t hate each other?” he asks instead.

“Not anymore,” Stiles says quietly yet firmly, because what else is he supposed to say? He hesitates briefly, then continues. “We actually might be madly in love.”

This seems way too much for Derek to believe. To be fair, if someone had told this to Stiles a year and a half ago, he probably would have felt the same sense of disbelief. He stays silent as Derek takes it all in.

“But what do we _do_?” he asks finally, breaking the silence. “What do we get from each other?”

It’s odd, because even though this is Derek, it kind of feels like Stiles is sharing the privacy of their relationship with someone else. Someone who shouldn’t know. But Derek needs to know.

“We talk a lot. Discuss things, you know. We bicker a lot, but that’s kinda what we do. Uh, we hang out. We just like spending time with each other –” at this, Derek makes a face like he has a really hard time believing this. Stiles tries not to feel hurt.

“We have great sex. I think that’s a part of it.”

Derek flushes at that, and Stiles smiles to himself, because despite Derek’s tough exterior, he always used to feel a bit embarrassed when Stiles was blunt with the sex things. It’s just in the last month or so of their relationship that Derek’s been more comfortable with it. Stiles finds it kind of endearing.

“But we have nothing in common,” Derek says matter-of-factly. Each point of contention is like another punch to the gut, but Stiles does his best to stay calm.

“Some stuff,” he says. “Knowing weird history facts, preferring strawberry sundaes over hot fudge sundaes... Mostly, we have _us_ in common. It seems to be enough, for some reason.”

“Do we fight?”

Stiles shrugs. “We haven’t been together long enough to have a real fight. We argue, sometimes. It’s not so bad. Mostly it’s you being a stubborn asshole, and me being a sensible adult.”

Derek snorts and rolls his eyes. “Of course.”

Stiles allows himself a small grin. In that second, everything feels normal, like he wasn’t trying to remind his boyfriend that he’s just that: his boyfriend.

“Do we live together?”

“Naw, we’ve been dating for four months only, so no, but I suspect that you’re trying to convince me, because I always leave your place with less than I brought.”

Derek makes a sound of surprise at that. He’s quiet for a while, before he says: “I just find all of this so hard to understand. Anyone else might have been easier, but it’s just... _you_.”

Stiles feels his heart drop through the floor. “I don’t know,” he says as he stands up, suddenly feeling like he’s going to start crying. “I guess you lowered your standards or something.” He says it as a joke, but his voice breaks, making him sound pathetic.

“Stiles, wait,” Derek starts, but Stiles is already out the door. He knows that he should stay with Derek, but he needs to breathe for a bit. Just a little bit. He’ll go back later.

He sits in the waiting room, trying to muster up enough courage and strength to go back and face Derek again. It’s odd. This isn’t his Derek. This is the Derek that Stiles despised for years. But at the same time, the Derek lying in that hospital bed is also the man Stiles might be madly in love with.

Stiles knows that he should go back in. He knows that he needs to be there for Derek. But he just can’t.

Not today.

* * *

 

It’s two weeks before Derek is allowed to leave the hospital. Stiles drives him home and helps him inside. It feels odd to walk in and not be able to lie down on the couch and turn the TV on, or putter around the kitchen and make a snack. He doesn’t understand how he can feel so alien in a place that’s so familiar.

It doesn’t help that he still feels gutted from the conversation he and his dad had with Derek’s doctor, a little less than an hour ago, as Derek was packing up to leave the hospital.

 _“There is some good news,_ ” the doctor had said. _“Derek is recovering surprisingly quickly, given the extent of his injuries, and I’m pleased to see his physical progress.”_

Stiles had almost smiled at that, but he felt as though he was waiting for something else. _“But...?”_

 _“But,”_ the doctor had continued. _“The fact that Derek hasn’t recovered any of his lost memories yet worries me. The longer he goes without progress here, the less likely he is to recover.”_

Stiles hadn’t said anything after that. He _couldn’t_ say anything after that. He just felt his scalp prickle with anxiety again, and focused on keeping his breath even as his dad thanked the doctor.

Stiles hasn’t told Derek. He’s got a feeling that perhaps Derek already knows. He watches warily from just inside the door, as Derek has a look around. It must be odd, knowing that he lives here, but not remembering why he moved, or why he chose this particular condo.

“I think I’ll be okay from here,” Derek says suddenly, and looks up from the Marvel mug he’s been inspecting. It’s Stiles’, but he doesn’t dare say so, afraid that Derek will force him to take it with him when he leaves.

Behind Derek, in the kitchen, Stiles can see a photo strip of the two of them, pinned to the refrigerator with a magnet. They'd found a photo booth on their first date, and Stiles practically dragged Derek into it to have their pictures taken. Stiles has the photos memorized. The first picture is classic them: Stiles grinning widely like an idiot while Derek looks on, exasperated. In the second picture, Stiles is poking Derek in the side, trying to get a response out of him.

The third picture is Stiles' favorite. Derek is holding Stiles' face, kissing him firmly on the mouth. Stiles' eyebrows are skyrocketed in surprise. In the fourth and final picture, Stiles is slumped in the seat, looking dazed, while Derek grins, proud and satisfied. Stiles’ breath hitches in his chest, and he wonders if they’ll ever have another moment like that again.

“Okay,” Stiles says, chest heavy. “I’ll pick you up on Thursday?”

Derek nods, but he seems uncomfortable. “My family isn’t arriving until Saturday, and since I’m not allowed to drive yet, I’d appreciate it.”

It’s like he doesn’t understand, doesn’t _know_ that Stiles would bring down the moon for him, should he ask.

Derek doesn’t ask.

Stiles sits on his couch for hours when he gets back to his apartment, staring at the wall, trying desperately to see some light in all of this. It feels as though someone has decided to build a brick wall on his chest, as he starts thinking about the possibility that Derek might never again remember _them_. As though the universe is playing some kind of sick joke on him, letting him have the best few months of his life, before taking everything away again.

Still, he takes Derek to physical therapy on Thursday. He’s surprised by the fact that he’s allowed to sit in the room while the physiotherapist goes through the exercises with Derek, before he’s allowed to do them himself. His right side is a bit weaker than his left, apparently.

Stiles watches the sheer focus on Derek’s face, knowing that look all too well from when Derek wanted to take him apart in bed. He swallows and looks away for a moment, telling himself that his eyes sting because he forgot to blink.

“So, when’s your family arriving on Saturday?” Stiles asks, when they’re in the car again.

“Around two.”

When Stiles glances over, Derek looks less on edge than he has lately. Perhaps he’s just too tired from exerting himself in therapy.

“That’s good. Are you looking forward to seeing them again?” Stiles hasn’t had the chance to meet them. They live on the other side of the country, and didn’t have time to come sooner. This wasn’t exactly how he imagined meeting Derek’s family for the first time.

“I guess. They’re worried.”

“Aren’t we all.” Stiles tries to say it light-heartedly, but the look Derek gives him makes him think that he might not have been completely successful. A part of him wants Derek to know that this is hard for him, too, but at the same time, it’s not really Derek’s fault. He didn’t ask to get hit by a car, and Stiles can only imagine the chaos that must be going on inside his head.

“Thanks for this,” Derek says when Stiles drops him off. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

“I’ll drop by this weekend,” Stiles says, before Derek has a chance to protest. Stiles hopes that being around Derek will make it easier for him to remember being in love with Stiles. Also, _he’s_ still in love with Derek, so being around him is the only thing that makes sense to him right now. It’s agony not being able to talk to him every day, the way they did before the accident happened.

Stiles feels nervous that Sunday, as he drives over to Derek’s place. He’d texted Derek a couple of times to see how he was doing, but hadn’t gotten anything in reply. He feels like maybe he should just stay home and let Derek be with his family. Still, he told Derek that he’d stop by this weekend. Also, it hurts to go this long without seeing him.

There’s a slight worry itching under his skin as he knocks on the door and waits. A couple of moments pass before a young woman answers the door. She doesn’t look any older than sixteen. _Cora_ , Stiles thinks, remembering what Derek told him about his family. She looks at Stiles expectantly, waiting for him to say something.

“Um. Hi. Is Derek home?” he asks awkwardly, wondering if he should introduce himself.

Cora gives him the once over, before she nods, seemingly in approval, and turns back into the apartment. “Derek, it’s for you!”

A moment later, Derek shows up in the door with a smile on his face that Stiles hasn’t seen since he left for work the same morning he got hit by a car. It takes him a moment to realise that it’s not meant for him, as Derek’s smile falters when he sees Stiles on the other side of the door.

“Hey,” Stiles says awkwardly, and suddenly feels like he’s intruding. Like he’s a creepy stalker, and not this guy’s boyfriend. “I just wanted to check up on you, since you didn’t return my texts.”

“I’m with my family,” Derek says stiffly, like that’s supposed to explain everything.

Stiles shrugs, trying to play it cool. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, that’s all.”

“Derek, who’s at the door?” someone inside the apartment asks, and Stiles doesn’t miss the way Derek moves just a fraction to block the view of Stiles completely to the people inside the apartment.

“It’s just my boss’s son, that’s all.”

Stiles blinks. It suddenly feels as though he has a lump in his throat; heavy, chafing. “I guess I should go,” he croaks, embarrassed about how broken he sounds.

Derek looks like he’s about to say something for a moment, and Stiles hates the way his heart trips, but then Derek just nods and closes the door in his face.

He’s almost at the elevator, on the verge of hyperventilating, when he hears the door open behind him again.

“Stiles?” a voice says quietly. When he turns, he sees a woman standing at the door. Too young to be Derek’s mother, Stiles assumes that this is his older sister Laura.

“I’ll be right back!” she shouts back into the apartment, before shutting the door and quickly crossing to Stiles. “I’m Laura,” she says, introducing herself, and confirming Stiles’ guess.

“I know,” he says, then catches himself. “I mean, I figured, because Derek has talked about you down at the station. Not to me, to my dad, y’know, since–”

“I know you’re not just the boss’s son,” Laura interjects, cutting Stiles off. Stiles’ eyes grow wide, and Laura looks like she wants to hug him.

“He might not remember this,” she continues, “but Derek told us about you. A few weeks before the accident.” She smiles sadly. “He really likes you.”

“You mean _liked_ ,” Stiles mutters. Laura flinches at Stiles’ tone, and his heart breaks further, if that were possible. He isn’t getting off on the right foot with Derek’s family.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles apologises, and Laura nods, understandingly. “I just don’t know what to do. He’s Derek, but at the same time he’s not. I used to despise _that_ guy,” Stiles points toward the apartment in emphasis, “but _that_ guy is my boyfriend. Except he doesn’t want to be, and I don’t know what to do.”

Laura reaches out and squeezes his hand. “It must be harder for you and Derek, than for anyone else. He still remembers us, knows who we are, but you…” She trails off, then continues. “He got this weird face when Cora told him he had a visitor, or whenever you sent him a text. I think he doesn’t get it, but he kind of wants to, you know?”

“Not really.”

“I think he wants to be the happy Derek he was with you these last few months, but he doesn’t really know who that Derek is.”

Laura pauses, like she’s not sure how to continue. “When he finally confessed to dating someone, he told me what happened,” she starts, “how everything changed between you guys when he saved your dad’s life. But since you can’t really recreate that moment, I think it’s hard for him to see how things might change.”

“I just want him back,” Stiles whispers. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Maybe take him to places where you used to go together,” Laura suggests. “Like your first date, your favourite restaurant… Do the things you used to do with him. Maybe take him back to your place when he’s ready.”

Stiles takes a deep breath. “Yeah, maybe. I doubt he’ll agree to that, though.”

“I’ll _make_ him agree to it,” Laura says, somewhat forcefully. At Stiles’ look of shock, she smiles widely. “What do you think big sisters are for?”

Stiles laughs. “Thank you,” he says sincerely.

“It’s no problem, Stiles,” Laura replies. “Like I said, I think a part of him really wants to be remember. I caught him staring at that photo strip of you two on the refrigerator. He took it down, but I know that he knows that I saw it. It’s funny that he thinks I’d buy the _it’s my boss’s son_ after seeing it.”

Stiles snorts. “He’s always been kinda thick like that.”

“He has indeed.” She hugs him briefly, but Stiles thinks it feels like she’s squeezing him just enough to make some of the pain go away. When she pulls away to go back into the apartment, he can breathe a little easier again.

* * *

 

It’s three weeks left before Christmas, when Stiles decides that he needs to get going if he wants his Derek back this year. He hasn’t seen Derek much lately, because he’s either been with his family or down at the station, and Stiles feels like he’s intruding. He’s just not wanted right now.

Much to his surprise, Derek doesn’t need much convincing for Stiles to take him on a walk down the path in the preserve where they often used to go, trying to solve their arguments and committing public indecencies. Derek is quiet for most of the walk, and Stiles can’t seem to find his words for once.

It’s chilly out, and Stiles sticks his hands in his pockets, wishing that it would be okay for him to hold Derek’s hand to warm his own. Derek’s wearing _mittens_ , and Stiles suspects that those are a gift from one of his family members, because Derek just isn’t a mitten kind of guy.

“So,” Derek says after a long silence, except for the sounds of the forest. “What does this place mean to us?”

Stiles ignores the way it almost seems to annoy for Derek to say _us_.

“We used to go for walks here a lot,” he explains. “I figured you might still like it.”

“Yeah, I used to like this place a lot before. I stopped going here a few years ago.”

Stiles doesn’t point out that Derek’s usually here a couple of times a week. “It’s a good way to de-stress,” he says instead.

When he looks over at Derek, cheeks red from the cold, and a thick knitted scarf around his neck, he’s taken aback by how hard his chest seizes up. It feels wrong, somehow, taking this Derek here, when it was Stiles’ and _his_ Derek’s place.

“So, do you want to turn back?” he asks, because it feels like he might just run off.

“Sure,” Derek agrees, and they head back together, in silence again.

They walk through the endless Christmas decorations and blasting Christmas songs when they head towards Derek’s apartment through the centre of the town. Stiles tries not to pay too much attention, knowing all too well that he thought that he was going to spend this Christmas with Derek, buying hot cocoa and roasted chestnuts somewhere, watching the kids skate down by the lake. Now, whenever he’s not teaching, he spends most of his time in his apartment, trying not to think about everything else that’s chaotic in his life.

Sometimes it feels like he might as well give up.

He sucks in a breath, trying to empty his brain, and catches Derek looking over at him out of the corner of his eye.

“Are you okay?” Derek asks, and for a moment, his voice sounds as soft as it used to, when Derek spoke to him. Stiles used to make fun of him for that.

“Yeah, I’m fine. I think I’m going to head home. It’s a bit too chilly for my outfit.” Stiles holds up his bare hands, feeling as though he needs to prove this. In reality, he just wants to curl into a ball under the blankets in his bed.

“You can borrow my mittens if you want.” Derek starts to pull them off his hands, but Stiles shakes his head and he stops.

“No, I’m feeling kind of tired too, so I guess I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah.” Derek nods, and then pauses, looking a bit embarrassed. “So, I was going to ask you something, and you’re free to say no. I understand if you’re busy.”

Stiles’ heart ticks. “Shoot.”

“I have a meeting with my physio on the twenty-third, and no one is able to give me a ride, so I thought I’d ask you. Unless you’re busy.”

He feels weak, suddenly, like all the energy has left him.

“Sure. What time do you want me to pick you up?”

* * *

 

Stiles tries again, after that, with their favourite restaurant, with the diner where they had their first date. It’s clear that Derek knows that these are important places to them, but that he can’t understand it at the same time. To him it’s just another restaurant, another crappy diner with uncomfortable booths. He doesn’t get the rush of warmth whenever they step into one of those places, the way that Stiles does.

He gets frustrated when Stiles tries to explain, because it makes no sense to him.

Stiles doesn’t really get why he keeps trying, when he always ends up going home with a lump in his throat, eyes burning, welcomed by an empty bed.

Tonight, it’s particularly painful. It’s just three days before Christmas, and Stiles really thought, _hoped_ , that Derek would be back by now. Instead, he’s at the restaurant where Derek blew him in the bathroom, staring down at his menu for desserts. Derek has been oddly quiet all evening. Strangely so, even for this Derek, the one who still looks at Stiles like he’s too peculiar to understand.

“You should pick the lava cake,” Stiles says, as he settles on the raspberry sorbet. “You like that one.”

He looks up when Derek sighs through his nose, finding his eyebrows pinched together and his mouth in a hard line. “I’m going with the creme brulee.”

“I promise, you love the lava cake. It’s the best dessert you’ve ever had,” Stiles insists, remembering the way Derek had sighed around his spoon, his face slack in bliss. That cake was the reason they ended up in the bathroom to begin with.

“I don’t care,” Derek snaps, and before Stiles has a chance to reply, he orders the creme brulee when the waitress comes over to them.

“And for you?” she asks, turning towards Stiles.

He glances down at the raspberry sorbet on the menu, suddenly not feeling up for re-experiencing that dinner. “Nothing. I’m good.”

She nods, leaving swiftly, and Derek stares at the wall next to their table.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Stiles croaks, feeling a little lightheaded, and heads towards the bathroom. It’s empty, thank god, and he grabs ahold of the nearest sink, avoiding his reflection in the mirror. His knuckles turn white, and he tries to think about something else, something that isn’t about Derek being someone else. Someone who makes Stiles’ heart jump whenever he sees him, and then sink like a stone to the soles of his feet, the moment he remembers.

He can’t give up now. It hasn’t even been that long. Two months, almost. It’s not a lot, is it? There’s still hope, right?

When he emerges, Derek has finished his creme brulee, and puts his coat on as soon as Stiles reaches his chair. “I’ve already paid.”

So, Stiles drives him home. Watching, with his chest heavy like concrete, as Derek enters his building and disappears.

When he walks up the stairs to his own apartment a few minutes later, he glances at the loose brick in the wall just outside his door, absently wondering if he should remove the extra key lying underneath it. Derek was the only one using it anyway. He decides to leave it to another day.

His dad calls just as he’s about to crash on his couch to watch a movie, pretending like he doesn’t want to cry his heart out for the fifth time this week.

“Hey,” Stiles says, answering the call.

“Son,” his dad replies, and it’s like he knows from just hearing Stiles’ greeting. “What’s wrong?”

“What _isn’t_ ,” Stiles whispers under his breath, and focuses on a hole in his blanket.

“No progress with Derek?”

“No.” He inhales slowly, trying to suppress the tightening of his throat. “I don’t know what else to do.”

“Maybe just give him some space?” His dad suggests. “He’s Derek. He’ll come around.”

“The thing is,” Stiles points out, his voice small, “he isn’t really Derek anymore, you know?”

His dad sighs heavily on the other end. “I wish I could fix this for you, son, I really do.”

“Me too,” Stiles admits. “I’d give anything.”

He falls asleep on the couch later, proud for some reason, over the fact that he never cried. He usually feels lighter in the morning, like a new day brings new opportunities, new possibilities, new hope. Today, though, he feels exactly as worn and tired as he did when he fell asleep on the couch last night.

For a moment, he thinks about going back to sleep, but then he realises that he’s supposed to drive Derek to the physiotherapist today. It’s the last appointment before Christmas.

He eats a meager breakfast, feeling nauseated, but determined to get something down. Derek barely greets him when he gets in the car, wearing his workout clothes already.

“You don’t have to come in with me,” Derek says, when Stiles parks outside the hospital.

“It’s cold in the car,” he says almost shortly. And Stiles wants to be there, just to know if Derek is making progress with this at least. To his surprise, there are no protests.

The physiotherapist is a beautiful woman called Jennifer. Stiles has met her before, and knows that she’s great at what she does, because Melissa has told him as much. However, it hasn’t occurred to him before today, how close Derek has gotten with her. He watches as Derek smiles at her the way he smiled at Stiles just over two months ago, how he seems to forget that Stiles is even in the room with them, like he sometimes did with his co-workers when Stiles visited the station. How he looks at her, allows her to touch him, how he speaks to her in the soft voice that used to be Stiles’ alone.

“What the hell are you doing?” Stiles blurts, voice cracking, and yeah, maybe that’s the sound of his heart breaking.

Derek looks up at him, confused at first, and Jennifer takes a step back from where she’s guided him in another exercise. She seems confused, but Derek just looks irritated.

“I’m not doing anything,” he says sharply.

“I’m not blind!” Stiles protests, getting angry with himself for how choked up he sounds. “You’re flirting with her. In front of _me_.”

“You’re not my boyfriend!” Derek snaps, and the silence in the room after that is more deafening than anything Stiles has ever heard before.

Jennifer just stares at them, but Stiles can’t with looking at her. Derek looks furious for one, two, three seconds, before his face falls. And all Stiles can do is stare at him, desperately trying to remember how to speak. How to breathe.

“What?” he manages at last, his voice small.

“Stiles,” Derek says slowly, and maybe he’s regretting what he said ten seconds ago, but it’s already out there. “You have to understand–“

“Understand what, exactly?” Stiles snaps, anger suddenly boiling under his skin. “That it would’ve been better for me if I was the one losing my memory? Then you could be the one sitting here, feeling like you’re going to implode, because you love someone who isn’t there anymore.”

He briefly notices Jennifer leave the room, but Derek looks angry again.

“And how do you think it feels for me? I’m a fucking stranger to myself. I have this life that doesn’t feel like my own. I’m living in an apartment that has so many memories that aren’t mine. How do you think it feels to wake up and realise that you were finally _happy_ , but now you can’t remember how?”

Stiles sucks in a breath, as Derek leaves the room, banging the door closed as he exits.

“I’m sorry,” he says to the room, and picks up Derek’s sweatshirt from the chair next to his own. He just never realised that maybe, maybe this is just as hard for Derek as it is for him.

He sits there, Derek’s shirt in his hands, until Jennifer stick her head back in, gently telling him that she has another appointment in ten minutes. So he just thanks her and leaves, bringing the shirt with him. When he’s back home, he considers packing up Derek’s stuff and giving it back to him, but it just doesn’t seem right.

He leaves the sweatshirt hanging over the back of his couch, and spends the entire day and most of the night in front of his computer, playing World of Warcraft, which he hasn’t done in several months. His phone rings several times, but he ignores it, needing to be alone. To pretend that nothing happened, that everything is exactly as it should be.

When he visits the McCall’s with his dad for the annual Christmas Eve dinner the following day, he excuses himself early, claiming that he’s sick. Not even Scott’s crooked smile can make anything easier right now. He just has to wait for it to pass.

Every time he thinks about Derek claiming that Stiles isn’t his boyfriend, he thinks that he should feel something, but he’s just oddly empty.

It’s just half past eight when he comes back home, briefly noting that he really should remove the spare key behind the brick soon, but he undresses and pulls on Derek’s sweatshirt and goes to bed anyway. He pulls the shirt up over his nose, greedily breathing in the familiar smell, and without a warning, it feels like someone has ripped his chest open, and he begins to cry.

Because this is it. This is where it ends. This is where he has to start moving on.

Right?

He curls in on himself, dragging Derek’s favourite pillow towards him across the bed, and for once it feels comfortable and soft when he curls around it. He doesn’t know how to move on from someone that he assumed was _the one_ , however lame that might sound. Especially now.

He feels wrung-out when he finally falls asleep, the pillowcase and the collar of Derek’s shirt still damp, and his entire body feels sore.

When he wakes, not that many hours later, it’s because the mattress is dipping under a weight that isn’t his. A familiar warmth spreads through his chest, and he reaches out blindly, grabbing for Derek’s hand, sighing when he finds it.

“You’re back late,” he mumbles into the pillow, refusing to open his eyes.

“Stiles,” Derek says softly, his fingers shaking as he squeezes Stiles’ hand, a little too tight. “Stiles,” he says again, when Stiles only grunts in reply.

He turns over on his back slowly, cracking his eyes open, and for a moment he’s so confused over why Derek’s sitting on his bed with tears streaming down his face. But then, it’s like it’s all coming back at once.

“How did you get in?” he asks, suddenly feeling a bit awkward, dressed in Derek’s shirt. He probably has snot all over his face, too.

“I used the key,” Derek whispers, smiling through his tears.

Stiles just stares at him, because Derek hasn’t been to his place since the accident, and Stiles hasn’t told him about the key. And Derek is crying and smiling.

“Oh my god,” he whispers, his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest. “Oh my god,” he says again, reaching up to touch Derek’s face and as soon as his fingertips connect with Derek’s stubble, he starts crying, too.

“I’m so sorry,” Derek whispers, as Stiles pulls him down, wrapping his arms and legs around him, holding on for all that he’s worth.

“It’s not your fault,” Stiles says hurriedly, kissing the top of his head, his ears, his stupid eyebrows as soon as Derek pulls back enough to look at him, his nose, his cheeks, and then finally his mouth. “I’ve missed you,” he says quietly. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Derek just presses in close, breathes him in, like he’s been starving.

And maybe, maybe, Stiles thinks, there really are such things as Christmas miracles.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on[ tumblr](http://ljummen.tumblr.com), come say hi! :D


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